


Musing and Masturbation

by Kare



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Memories, Musing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:25:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kare/pseuds/Kare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This started as a title. I am aware of the fact that it does not really... live up to the expectations it might evoke, but... well... we all know people using this side have an active imagination, right? ;P</p><p>Fair warning:<br/>English is not my first language. And this text has not seen a Beta. Proceed at your own risk</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musing and Masturbation

He had said it to Natasha.

 

“I am 95, not dead.”

 

As if…

 

As if it didn’t kill him to see Peggy, being astounded at his presence - again and again and again.

 

As if he could forgive fate for grazing the last link to his past with a heavy case of Alzheimer.

 

As if couldn’t see through Natasha’s “hook the Cap up with a girlfriend” scheme.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

While another of his sentences still rang through his head.

 

“Someone with a similar life experience is hard to find.”

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

And Natasha had been there, casual as always, advising to make something up.

 

As if being him wasn’t bad enough.

 

As if being someone else simultaneously would make it easier.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

And he fought it.

 

He fought it so hard.

 

That picture of his… neighbor?

 

Kate?

 

He had seen her.

 

That smile when she was posing as a nurse.

 

That steely grip on her weapon before she had spotted Fury.

 

She had reminded him of Peggy.

 

And of that first test of his shield.

 

Of cause, it had only been a split second, before he was off chasing a ghost.

 

But he had felt it again - like a tuck at the back of his head - later, when he saw her at S.H.I.E.L.D.

 

And if that wasn’t a surefire way to fuck things up.

 

He knew, he frigging knew, that there was no way it could work out when he took her as a substitute for someone else.

 

It didn’t stop his bodies reaction, though.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

_*just breath through it*_

 

…

 

His left fist lightly pounded the wall.

 

It wasn’t anywhere near to the force he wanted to lash out with.

 

But if he did, the wall would not stand a chance.

 

And he couldn’t afford it.

 

It was one thing to steal a few private moments in a motel shower.

 

No one could begrudge him that.

 

It was quite another to go to pieces in a place where Sam would find the evidence.

 

Sam…

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

_Damn it…_

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

He could still feel his pulse quickening.

 

Sam…

 

As if that one hadn’t come with his own problems.

 

Not the traumatized soldier thing.

 

All things considered Sam kept it together a lot better than some of the other people Steve had seen.

 

Even a lot better than he himself.

 

But he had not known it back then. Back then, when Natasha had talked him, all to easily, into searching out Sam.

 

He knew why he liked that fellow.

 

Sam treated him like a human being.

 

Sam could still be outwitted by Natasha. But there were moments when Sam saw so much more than her.

 

And Sam…

 

Sam had made him smile. Easy and carefree. And honest. And real. And…

 

And Sam could have been his shot at a friend. Someone to share a beer with every once in a while. Or whatever it was that people did these days.

 

But he only knew those things later.

 

Back then, when it mattered, he had seen a battered soldier.

 

One who could or could not have broken under the strain Steve put on him.

 

One who had a right to his own life.

 

One who… the _only_ one who had actually asked what Steve might want to do after… who had not only asked, but who had, ever so jokingly, even given an answer.

 

Ultimate Fighting…

 

It was no long term option.

 

Steve knew that now.

 

But he had done it, once, for the heck of it. And to earn them a bit of money to go on. And…

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

And he knew that his breathing was starting to sound funny.

 

Not yet hyperventilating.

 

But with a slight wheeze that might be better associated with…

 

…

 

_Breath, damn it!_

 

…

 

He had checked, and double checked, and triple checked, again and again and again, whether or not Sam was willing and ready to do this.

 

Sam had been sure.

 

Sam was capable and strong.

 

And Sam had no idea how it tore at Steve whenever he was in danger.

 

This wasn’t about the cock-sure way Sam would move and joke and drive people up the wall if only he wanted.

 

No, this was about bullets flying too close for comfort. About falling and calculating on the fall whether or not Sam would make it. About helicopter rescue missions, without which his own order might have killed Sam.

 

About…

 

…

 

_Steve had turned on the water._

 

_Not that the spray of water would really mask all sounds._

 

_But it would maybe mask his breathing._

 

…

 

Because the problem - the real problem - was that he wasn’t ready.

 

Maybe ready to trust again.

 

But not ready to loose.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

He had seen worse in his time.

 

So much worse.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

But he also had seen better and safer missions.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

It had only been a single shoot.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

Just one shoot.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

And it had _nothing_ to do with the way Sam had cowered behind a stall.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

Or bullets flying.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

Or Sam using a frying pan like an ill designed weapon…

 

 

…

 

_*breath*_

…

 

Or maybe a shield…

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

And a single shot…

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

Or the way Steve’s vision had gone white around the edges.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

Or the temperature had suddenly felt so low, he might as well have been…

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

_*deep breath*_

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

If Steve could have, he would have scratched himself out of his own damn skin.

 

He had tried it.

 

Once or twice.

 

But had stopped before it became a _thing_.

 

Not because life was better without it.

 

But because it was an intelligent life choice.

 

Because he was good at those.

 

Because that was what Captain America did.

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

So why… why the hell… did he often feel like Sams and Buckys Images overlapped?

 

Sam would smile that one sided smile of his and Steves mind would supply Bucks posture.

 

Sam would snort and one of Buckys quotes would whisper over Steves mind.

 

Sam would get shoot at in a kitchen and Steve saw… that train… and snow… and…

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

_Damn it…_

 

…

 

“Hey, you in there?”

 

And if he hadn’t heard that one time and again…

 

“Yes…” _Sam…_

 

And he could not even place the sound of his own voice anymore.

 

If only Bucky had not barked exactly this sentence, time and again, when his parents were out for work and…

 

If only his mind would stop fusing those two things…

 

…

 

_*breath*_

 

…

 

All this searching for Bucky was wracking havoc on his brain…

 

Just a shower and a bit of sleep and… finding Bucky…

 

And things would sort themselves out.

 

Because all this searching was wracking havoc on his brain.

 

This was not happening.

 

He was not getting attached…

 

Most especially: he was not getting unhealthily attached…

 

He…

 

…

 

There was a clatter at the wall.

 

The water from the shower was practically gushing down the wall…

 

…

 

_There was no way Sam would believe that Steve had simply been overtired…_

**Author's Note:**

> I know you were probably hoping for something a lot more explicit, but... well.
> 
> I am aware of the fact that without the title everyone reading this story is likely going to think that captain America is having a panic attack in the shower. But not only do I think that there are a few thousand people more qualified for writing a dark-fic than me. I also think that as an European, I am seriously missing the cultural background to understand this character the way it was meant to be.  
> So to me, writing Captain America as a confuse human(!) being - although not a very comfortable one - is a lot more appealing as then writing him as a man going to pieces over the images in my head. So, yeah, to the author this is a man... sort of handling himself. To you... it may be what ever your mind supplies.


End file.
